


sugar

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [24]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Grocery Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a big day. A milestone in their relationship. A momentous occasion.</p>
<p>Their first grocery shopping trip as a couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sugar

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: 'Flaurel are grocery shopping late one night (but they're not officially a couple), and end up with so much more than they need. Plus dirty talk.'

It’s a big day. A milestone in their relationship. A momentous occasion.

Their first grocery shopping trip as a couple.  

Well, it’s a momentous occasion to Laurel, at least – Frank’s just grumbling about it, like he has been since she put the idea to him last week, because “if we’re cohabitating and sharing a fridge, Frank, we should be co-grocery shopping too.” Initially he’d given a half-assed attempt at protesting, but caved when she’d insisted, not wanting to start a fight.

Which brings them here now, at 11 AM on a Saturday, to the supermarket a few streets away from their apartment.

“Still don’t understand why we gotta do this,” he mutters, as they step inside and grab a shopping cart.

Laurel rolls her eyes and reaches into her purse to find her list, neatly folded and organized. “It’s what normal, domestic couples do. Go grocery shopping together.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And we’re a normal, domestic couple now?”

“Yes,” she tells him, not missing a beat. “So. Did you bring your list?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Frank stops the cart and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, rummages for a moment, before withdrawing a crumpled little piece of notebook paper. He unfolds it and smooths it out, revealing messy, barely readable scrawl.

Laurel blinks. “ _That’s_  your list?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How can you even read that?” she asks, pointing to a word near the bottom. “What does that say? Co… Cei…”

“Cilantro,” he finishes for her. “That says cilantro. How can you not read that?”

She scoffs. “What do you mean how? It’s chicken scratch.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, and reaches over to snatch her list out of her hands. “Your list is ridiculous. How long you spend on this?”

“Not that long,” Laurel snaps, and takes it back, holding it out for him to see. “Look, it’s organized by department to make this trip more… efficient. It’ll take forever if we’re running back and forth across the store.”

Frank just looks at her. “Oh God. You’re one of those.”

Laurel narrows her eyes, as if daring him to finish that thought. “One of those what?”

He just smirks at some joke she obviously isn’t in on, shakes his head, and gives the shopping cart a push forward.

“Nothing. C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

 

–

 

Five aisles in, and Laurel’s already kind of regretting insisting they do this together.

Frank, so far, has done nothing but make snide remarks about all the healthy food she’s put in their cart, because “almond milk isn’t milk. Milk doesn’t come from nuts,” and “Tofu isn’t actual food, babe; it’s plastic,” and “Who eats a rice cake when they want a snack? That’s like eating air,” and “Look, I don’t know what quinoa is, but I don’t eat foods I can’t spell.”

After the one about the quinoa – what can she say? She’s a health nut, and she likes it – Laurel spins around and glares at Frank, who still hasn’t added anything to the cart himself.

“It’s good for you. And you know what? Maybe we should split up.”

Frank gives her a look of disbelief. “Split up? Wasn’t the whole point to do this together?”

“Well, that was before you started critiquing all my food choices,” she snaps.

“That’s not food; it’s rabbit food. You wanna eat? Eat  _real_  food.”

“Fine. You want to eat real food? Go buy it. And… quit making fun of me and my quinoa.”

Amusement flickers in his eyes. “All right, fine. I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, Frank strolls down the aisle and disappears around one of the end caps. Laurel has no clue where he’s going, but doesn’t ask and only continues browsing the store’s selection of grains, making her way down the aisle until she’s almost out of sight of their cart. After grabbing a few things and milling around for a while, she returns to their cart – and the moment she does, her mouth drops open.

It’s absolutely full of junk food: candy, potato chips, a half-gallon of chocolate ice cream, Oreos, soda. Bacon, sausage. Milk that is most definitely  _not_ almond, soy, or even skim. There’s a Slim Jim next to her bag of quinoa, too. A  _Slim Jim_.

Oh God, she can practically see the trans fat and hydrogenated oil and high-fructose corn syrup dripping out of the bottom of the cart. She feels like she’s gained five pounds just  _looking_  at it.

Frank rounds the corner just then, bunches of cilantro and spinach in hand – probably the first healthy things he’s bought all day, if she’s being honest. He doesn’t notice the look of disgust on her face until he sets them in the cart and glances up at her, finding her lip curled up in revulsion.

“What’s wrong?”

“What is all this?” she demands, gesturing to the brightly colored array of packages and boxes.

“Food,” is all he says, like it should be obvious.

Laurel gapes at him. “This is not  _food_ , Frank, this is a bunch of mini heart attacks waiting to happen. What, is this how you shop all the time?”

He doesn’t answer; he just shrugs. Laurel blinks.

“I-I don’t get it. How can you possibly eat like this and still look like…  _that_?”

Another shrug. “I got a genetic predisposition for burning calories.”

Oh, God. If she ate like this on a regular basis, she would probably weigh three hundred pounds, and here is Frank, with perfectly toned abs and arms and  _everything_ , looking like Adonis while consuming sugar at the rate of Willy freaking Wonka. It’s not fair  _at all_.

“This is… I don’t…” she drifts off, stunned, and reaches for a bag of off-brand cheese puffs. “Do you have any idea how bad this stuff is for you? The second ingredient is oil – and they don’t even say which kind!”

He raises an eyebrow and snatches them out of her hand. “They’re cheese puffs. They’re made of cheese and air. Calm down.”

“All right, what about this?” Laurel reaches for the ice cream and holds it up, turning it around to read the label. “There’s ten servings in this, and one serving is 150 calories. And! And, 90 of those are from fat. That’s horrible.”

He takes that away too, setting it back in the cart. “And delicious.”

Laurel just looks at him for a moment, before reaching in again and holding up two packages. “Twizzlers? Oreos? Seriously? That soda is loaded with empty calories too – and do you have any idea what’s  _in_  a Slim Jim?”

“No.” Frank rolls his eyes. “And I don’t care. Now cool it. We can’t all be quinoa-eating health freaks like you.”

“I’m not a health freak; I’m health conscious. And  _you_  can’t keep eating so much sugar, because one day you’re going to get diabetes and lose a foot.”

“Really?” he grins, motioning to himself. “This body look diabetic to you?”

“Okay, can you stop rubbing it in, please?” she grumbles, then shakes her head. “Whatever. You’re putting all of this back.”

“Uh uh. No way. Us grocery shopping together doesn’t mean you’re forcing your boring organic crap down my throat now. I need my sugar fix.”

“You’re an addict. And… you know, if you gain a bunch of weight from eating all this junk food, maybe I won’t like you anymore.”

Frank pretends to be offended, and moves in closer, setting his hands on her hips. “Aw, what? You wouldn’t still like me if I had love handles?”

Laurel is about to open her mouth to reply, when suddenly Frank moves past her and starts to pick up the packages of snacks, collecting them in his arms.  

“All right. You win, but know that I’m doing this under protest,” he relents – but not before reaching down and smacking her on the ass with the bag of Twizzlers, hard enough to make an audible  _thwap_.

Laurel yelps, and glances around frantically to make sure no one saw that. There’s an old lady with glasses down at the other end of the aisle who looks a bit judgmental, and Laurel goes red, turning away and glowering at him.

“Frank! We’re in  _public_!”

He turns briefly to look back at her, eyes twinkling shamelessly. “All the more reason to have a little fun.”

 

–

 

It takes a while – mostly because Frank tries to sneak a package of cookies into the cart in every other aisle and Laurel is forced to stop and put it back – but finally, they buy everything they need, pack it up in shopping bags, and load it into his trunk. After slamming it shut, Laurel circles around the car to the passenger seat and sits down.

And almost the exact second she does, the package of Twizzlers and the bag of cheese puffs from earlier land in her lap.

Stunned, she glances sideways where Frank sits in the driver’s seat, and finds him with a triumphant little grin on his face.

“What did you-” she cuts herself off. “Frank, how-”

“I have my ways. Not eat up. Indulge for once.”

She half-laughs, half-scoffs. “I am noteating these! They’re-”

“Bad for you, I know. Just try a cheese puff. One. Wash it down with this.”

He reaches into a shopping back behind the front seat and withdraws a can of Coke – not diet, just plain old sugar-in-a-can Coke, which somehow he’d managed to sneak out past her, too.

Laurel frowns, but takes it, hesitates, and then very slowly pops open the tab. “Okay, fine. But if I do, you have to promise to cut back.”

“I would, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Laurel rolls her eyes, but opens the bag of cheese puffs anyway and pops one into her mouth with a _crunch_. And it tastes… surprisingly good. Really good, actually. She’s been eating ridiculously healthy for so long that she’d forgotten just how satisfying salty, oily, guilty junk food is.

Frank notices the look of contemplation on her face, just then. “Well?”

“All right,” she concedes reluctantly. “I see what you mean. It’s good. But don’t think you’re getting out of this by getting me hooked. You’re still cutting back on sugar.”

“Fine by me,” Frank says simply, as he starts the car and reaches over to place a hand on her knee. “You’re the only sugar I need to eat anyway.”


End file.
